


Pretend

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Friends with occasional benefits, Gratuitous Smut, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Repressed Rigsby, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Romantic Tension, When you gotta play mind games with yourself so it's not gay, really mild Dom/sub undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Cho knows exactly what Rigsby wants. He also knows Rigsby will never actuallyadmitit, but that's fine.Mostly.
Relationships: Kimball Cho/Wayne Rigsby
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Re-watching this show for the first time in yearrrs and couldn't believe there was no smut for these two on AO3, so... I guess I'm joining another fandom a decade or two too late 😂
> 
> It wasn't originally supposed to get quite so feels-y under the smut, though. Whoops.

“I really need to get laid.” 

Cho snorted into his glass. Rigsby was staring across the bar with that longing, lost puppy dog look he did so well (too well), at the pair flirting in the corner. 

He’d have said he was staring at the woman. Anyone noticing where his eyes were wandering might have disagreed. And Cho knew better, firsthand. 

“You sure do,” Cho muttered. 

Not quietly enough. 

“Yeah, I— Wait,” Rigsby said, glancing at him suspiciously, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

 _It means that every time another relationship goes down in flames when she leaves you for reasons you never seem to understand, you mope and sulk and start sending me constant, distracting_ signals _and I don’t think you even realize you do it. And then we go out somewhere so you can tell me how badly you need to get laid and pretend to get drunk so I’ll take you home and—_

“Nothing,” Cho said. 

Rigsby wasn’t even listening anyway. “Yeah,” he said, nodding distractedly. He fell silent, watching the man at the bar lean in and say something into the woman’s ear; then sighed again as they gathered their coats and left the bar together in a swirl of giggles and meaningful looks. “I gotta learn how to do that.” 

“Sure,” Cho said, and ordered another round. 

* * *

Cho knew what excessively drunk Rigsby was like. He also knew what not-actually- _that_ -drunk Rigsby was like. 

Rigsby was a terrible actor when he tried too hard. 

“Come on,” Cho said, easily catching his six-foot-four wall of a partner when Rigsby staggered a little too theatrically sideways and into him. “Let’s get you home.” 

“Thanks, Cho.” Rigsby beamed down at him and Cho sighed. “You’re a good friend.” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

He flagged down a taxi, bundled Rigsby and his ridiculously long, gangly (gorgeous) limbs in first, and climbed in after him. With Rigsby slouched down, sprawled out next to him and taking most of the entire back seat up himself, Cho squeezed in beside him and curtly gave the cab driver his address. 

It wasn’t far to Cho’s place, so Rigsby was still leaning against him by the time they got there, staring up at the roof of the car and humming happily to himself instead of getting nervous and fidgety and bolting before they made it inside. Cho could never quite figure out if he should feel bad about being disappointed when that did happen. For that matter, he could never quite figure out whether or not he should feel bad about the whole thing anyway, so it probably didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. 

Inside, he stripped out of his jacket, tie, and shoes while Rigsby watched him intently with that _hungry,_ hopeful look Cho could never say no to even if he wanted to. 

Watched so intently he forgot to pretend to wobble while taking his own shoes off as well. 

Cho pretended not to notice. Rigsby knew he knew, but he had to act like he _didn’t_ know, or Rigsby would take off, and— 

“Come on,” he said again, and Rigsby followed him through to the bedroom, his entire demeanour as eager and obedient as an excited puppy who _knew_ he was about to get a treat. 

...Cho shook his head inwardly with a silent, wry laugh for himself. He should really, he supposed, stop mentally equating Rigsby to a canine every time he was planning to bend the man over and fuck him half senseless. 

He kept going through the now-familiar charade, undressing down to his underwear for bed, quick and brisk and businesslike— as though Rigsby wasn’t standing too close (not close enough) while doing the same, repeatedly wetting his lips with little enticing flicks of his tongue as he fumbled his own shirt buttons open. And he was already getting hard, erection beginning to tent the front of his pants. 

Cho kept his voice as casual as he could despite the way his heart rate had picked up, thrumming through his veins with anticipation. “Want a hand with that?” he asked, as though he meant Rigsby’s clothes. 

He didn’t. 

Rigsby nodded immediately, nearly all pretense of inebriation forgotten, breathing harder with that little eager smile still on his parted lips and his eyes burning with undisguised interest. “Yeah.” 

His arms dropped to his sides and he stood still while Cho quickly finished his buttons for him— well, still _except_ for the quick, shallow rise-and-fall of his chest and the un-missable twitch of his hips when Cho accidentally-on purpose brushed his fingertips over bare skin on the way down to undo his partner’s belt and fly after his shirt. They were standing much, _much_ closer now. Close enough for Cho to feel Rigsby’s body heat like a physical force against him; close enough for him to hear the hitch in Rigsby’s breath, nearly a soft moan, as he eased Rigsby’s zipper down. 

Rigsby’s hips swayed forward and he pressed himself against Cho, his stiffening cock hot and eager through the thin material of his boxers. He’d never rabbited once they made it this far, and Cho finally, gratefully, dropped the act and slid Rigsby’s shirt off his (unbelievably _broad)_ shoulders to drop to the floor. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, cupping Rigsby through his shorts with one hand and slipping the other onto his bare back to pull him closer, “I know what you need.” 

Rigsby’s breath caught in a quiet whimper of assent as Cho walked him backwards to the bed, breathing in Rigsby’s scent; more intoxicating than the few drinks he’d had back at the bar. He held off from leaning up and capturing Rigsby’s mouth in a kiss the way he wanted to, though. That… that was dangerous. The one time he’d let himself do that, let himself take his partner face-to-face, felt Rigsby’s tongue on his and had Rigsby’s deliciously desperate panting moans hot on his lips— his partner hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for weeks. It had nearly ended… whatever this was. Not to mention their actual friendship. 

So instead, Cho ducked his head to mouth at the stiff little peak of Rigsby’s nipple, palmed him through his underwear until he was fully hard, panting and almost whining for more; then spun him around by the hips and slid his clothes down his thighs and off. 

Rigsby groaned, dropping down onto hands and knees as Cho pushed him forward onto the bed, grinding his own barely-clothed erection against his partner’s bared ass. Rigsby had legs for fucking _miles_ like this, knees spread, balls hanging tight and needy between his leanly muscled thighs; the long line of his spine slightly arched in anticipation. 

Breathing hard himself, Cho pushed the waistband of his briefs down to free his cock. A quiet groan welled up in his throat as he pressed his shaft up along the cleft of Rigsby’s ass, rutting against him and reaching around to close one hand firmly around his shaft. Rigsby whined and shuddered, his back arching further and his hips canting as Cho started jerking him off. He was already leaking precome, a thick bead of it trickling down from the tip of his cock and sliding hot and slippery under Cho’s fingers. 

Cho wasn’t much better off, cock straining, aching for _more,_ his breath already getting ragged as he pumped Rigsby’s shaft, squeezing the head _just_ right; just to watch Rigsby buck and shudder in front of him, sweat beading along his spine and his cock _throbbing_ hot and hard in Cho’s fist— 

Rigsby came faster than usual that time, his hands clenched, white-knuckled, in the covers of Cho’s bed and a desperate, wild (beautiful) cry ripping from his throat before he buried his face in the bedding to muffle his panting, sobbing moans in the fabric. Cho worked him through it before wiping his hand clean on the covers and leaning over to fumble out a condom and lube as fast as humanly possible. 

He got himself wrapped up and slicked in probably record time, but it still felt like too long before he was pressing the tip of his cock between Rigsby’s spread cheeks— Rigsby had been waiting for him like that, still shivering through the aftershocks, ass up and shoulders down— _rocking_ back and forth and mewling little needy sounds into Cho’s blanket. 

Cho groaned, mouth falling open and eyes fluttering almost shut as he rubbed his swollen cockhead over Rigsby’s hole, getting Rigsby slick and wet; teasing himself and his partner (lover) both by nudging the tip of his dick in and out… working Rigsby open, working himself inside, bit by agonizing bit— 

With a muffled, strangled half-wail, Rigsby pushed back into it, impaling himself faster on Cho’s cock. The sight of his cockhead slipping in, disappearing inside Rigsby’s stretched, reddened, lube-shiny rim, shoved the remnants of Cho’s restraint straight out the window. 

Something akin to a growl rose in his throat and he gripped Rigsby’s narrow hips tight, pushing in deep enough that he could start thrusting properly without popping back out. Rigsby was so _fucking_ tight like this; he always liked it that way, liked being stretched open on Cho’s cock. Cho nearly bit his own tongue clamping down on the words trying to escape his lips as he fucked into Rigsby harder and deeper— what he wouldn’t give to hear Rigsby _say_ it, say how badly he wanted Cho to fuck him into the mattress like he was doing now; beg for more, harder, faster, with actual words instead of those gasping moans and hoarse, formless cries Cho was dragging from his throat with every last thrust. 

Rigsby spread his knees wider and Cho took the invitation, leaning all his weight on his partner, leaning forward and getting a leg up until he’d all but _mounted_ Rigsby on the edge of the bed, fucking down into him with quick, sharp thrusts and letting the sight of his partner spread out and _wanting_ burn itself into his mind. 

He always had vague thoughts of trying to make himself last so he could enjoy it a little longer— and they always came to nothing once he was buried in Rigsby’s tight heat, balls slapping against his partner with every hard thrust and that burning, raging, demanding heat twisting higher in his gut. Cho gave himself up to it, his fingers digging so deeply into Rigsby’s hips that he knew (loved) that he was leaving marks that’d be there all week, _slamming_ his hips against Rigsby’s ass just to hear the slapping of skin fill the room; just to make sure Rigsby would feel _Cho_ in him every fucking time he sat down— 

Rigsby bucked back hard to meet him again with another broken, desperate _whine,_ and Cho was done. The tightly coiled pressure behind his cock swelled and throbbed and burst, his hips stuttering, his body going rigid and ragged, hoarse gasps tumbling from his lips as he spilled out in pulsing waves of heat, buried as deep in his partner’s gripping heat as he could get. 

Rigsby _moaned,_ ass clenching and twitching and drawing out Cho’s release until he was so oversensitive it hurt. He stayed where he was anyway, panting for air and just feeling Rigsby trembling under his hands and fluttering around his spent cock. He did finally have to pull out with a groan before he got too soft, though, Rigsby’s slushy, contented moan sending a low thrill of… something curling through his chest. It was easier if he didn’t really think about it as anything other than the general after-orgasm glow. 

By the time he’d tossed the used condom in the bathroom garbage, taken a piss and washed his hands, Rigsby had already burrowed halfway under the blankets and started snoring. 

Cho sighed and turned off the light, leaning over to finish the job Rigsby had started and tugging the covers over him properly— and Rigsby rolled over and flung one ridiculously (wonderfully) long arm around him with a snuffly hum. 

“Mmf… c’mon,” he mumbled, voice slurred with sleep and heavy with relaxed contentment. 

Cho hesitated briefly; then let himself be pulled into bed. Trapped in a tangle of long limbs with Rigsby’s body warm against him and Rigsby’s slow, steady breathing lulling him closer and closer to sleep, Cho let himself drift off… and pretended he didn’t know his partner would be gone by morning. 


End file.
